


An Experiment

by satb31



Series: Amis et amants [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Light Bondage, M/M, Ties & Cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the name of science, Combeferre asks to be tied up  -- and Joly agrees to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Experiment

“Joly, I have a brilliant idea, and we must try it tonight.”

Rubbing his eyes, Joly gazes up from his books to stare at Combeferre, who has burst into the practically silent Musain that Tuesday night. “Whatever are you talking about?” he asks, crinkling his brow. “Is this about that insect project you were working on?”

Combeferre takes a seat opposite Joly, his eyes wide and shiny with excitement. “No, it is not about the insects, although that is progressing very nicely, thank you very much. No, it is more in keeping with our human anatomy course, to be quite frank.”

“Which is currently occupying all of my thoughts both day and night, Combeferre. I do not think I have the time for this,” Joly sighed, turning back to his book, used to his lover’s various whims.

Combeferre glares at him. “You manage to find the time to drink with Grantaire and Bossuet at all hours of the night,” he says pointedly.

“That is different. That is medicinal,” Joly protests, not wanting to concede Combeferre’s point.

Grinning wildly, Combeferre grasps his hand. “So is this.”

Sighing, Joly tosses his book on the table, knowing that Combeferre will not be easily persuaded to abandon this proposed project. “Tell me,” he says.

“It is about--” he pauses, both for dramatic effect, and to check to be sure no one is listening in on their conversation. “About la petite mort,” he whispers.

“Combeferre, if this is about the last time, I told you, it has never happened to me before--” Joly begins, blanching at the thought of their last coupling, which ended with Joly beet red and apologizing repeatedly.

“That is not what I am referring to, however unfortunate as that incident was,” Combeferre replies, not unkindly. “I am thinking about an experiment as to how long it would be possible to apply sexual stimulus to a young healthy man, but deny him the final flourish, if you will.”

“You mean, how long can a man stand to be teased by his lover?” Joly asks. “Musichetta used to try that with me and I hated every minute of it. It is one of the reasons we are no longer together, to be perfectly honest.”

“You do not need to be the subject, Joly,” Combeferre assured him. “I will be.”

“And who do you intend to have as the -- stimulator?” Joly asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You, of course,” answers Combeferre, as if there was not even a question. “I propose we try it tonight. The only issue is that you will need to bind me in such a way that I will not be tempted to relieve the issue myself.”

“So let me understand you,” Joly asks, pursing his lips and cocking his head at Combeferre. “You want me to tie you up and do things to you sexually, but not allow you to finish -- all in the name of science?”

Combeferre nodded and touched his hand. “In a word, yes. But if for some reason you are not comfortable with that, I can see if Courfeyrac is available, or Prouvaire--”

“No.” Joly was quick to interrupt that train of thought. “I will do this for you.” He rises to his feet and begins to stack up his books. “For science, of course.” 

Combeferre was almost giddy as they departed the Musain, his eyes shining with anticipation. “Of course,” he repeats, taking Joly’s arm as they walk back toward his rooms.

**  
The giddiness is replaced by mild trepidation, and perhaps a twinge of regret, once they are in Combeferre’s tiny rooms. Combeferre removes his coat and manages to find a pair of not-entirely-filthy wine glasses and decants some wine into both of them, offering one of them to Joly, who looks askance at the dirty glass while Combeferre manages to consume half the glass at once.

“I would think that inebriation would have an adverse effect on this experiment of yours,” Joly remarks with a chuckle. He puts down his untouched wine and moves to embrace Combeferre, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I will not be a cruel lover, I promise. And you need only say a particular word we agree on if you require me to stop. Perhaps ‘Bonaparte’?” 

Combeferre hisses at the thought. “There is a reason I did not invite Pontmercy to participate in this project,” he says through gritted teeth. “What about ‘revolution’ or something like that?”

“Perhaps you can just say my name the way Prouvaire says it,” Joly suggests with a gentle peck on the cheek, not wanting to bring the cause into the bed with them. “Jolllly,” he pronounces, trilling the consonants as he says it. 

Combeferre nods and finishes off his wine. “That would suffice. Unless that is the name Monsieur Prouvaire calls out when you are with him in his room?” he teases.

Grabbing at the collar of Combeferre’s waistcoat, Joly’s green eyes darken as he pulls him so close their noses are practically touching. “That is enough from you,” he commands, his voice suddenly husky as he takes the glass from Combeferre. “Remove your clothing.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear Joly,” Combeferre says, sounding at once submissive and rebellious as he begins untying his cravat, which he hands to Joly. Joly takes a seat in Combeferre’s single chair, crossing his legs and taking up his glass of wine. He watches him with a raised eyebrow as his fellow student strips off each item of clothing one by one until he is standing completely nude in front of him. “Is this sufficient?” he asks, turning in a complete circle for him, his cock standing at attention.

Joly rises from his chair and walks around Combeferre, as if he is conducting an inspection. “It will do,” he replies, trying to keep himself from ravishing him right there in the middle of the room. “Go to your bed -- but first, tell me where you keep your cravats.”

Combeferre gulps. “Top drawer of my chest,” he replies as he maneuvers himself toward the bed -- a challenge given his growing erection. 

Joly tries not to laugh as he opens the drawer and pulls out four cravats -- one solid red, one in a red print, and two in different shades of blue. “Enjolras would be pleased that we are using the tricolore,” he notes as he unfolds each one.

He hears Combeferre groan from his position on the bed. “Do not bring Enjolras into this,” Combeferre says, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I do not believe he would approve of this.”

“Then do not tell him,” Joly replies matter-of-factly, straddling Combeferre. still fully clothed. Joly grasps his left wrist and binds it to the headboard of his simple wrought iron bed, purposely grinding against him as he does so. He repeats the action on the right wrist as Combeferre raises his hips off the mattress, trying unsuccessfully to achieve some sort of friction -- and crying out when Joly moves away again

“You are far too skilled at this,” Combeferre says, his mouth twisting into a pout, as Joly binds his ankles to the foot of the bed.

Joly’s eyes narrow. “Shall I gag you as well?” he asks as he removes his own coat.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Combeferre says quickly, shaking his head.

Joly slowly unties his own cravat. “Excellent,” is all he says. He continues the process of removing his own clothing at an excruciating pace, taking time with each button of his waistcoat and shirt, then removing his trousers. Once he too is naked, he ignores Combeferre’s whine of anticipation and begins to fold each item of clothing with exaggerated care, placing it in a neat pile on the chair.

“This is torture,” Combeferre groans.

Joly smirks and returns to the bed. “Sweet torture, however -- is it not?” he asks as he straddles Combeferre again, rubbing his hardening cock against Combeferre’s with a bemused smile on his face. “Now remember, you cannot come until I permit it,” he reminds him.

Combeferre can only manage a brief nod.

Joly leans down and kisses Combeferre on the lips, allowing his tongue to explore his mouth, enjoying the whimpering sounds coming from the back of his throat. Joly pulls away from this kiss and starts to explore Combeferre’s long body, using his fingers and tongue to caress and lick and suck every inch of him -- except his cock, which is flushed and curving upwards toward his belly. 

When he begins the process of touching him, the carillon at the nearby church is striking midnight.

By the time it strikes the quarter-hour, Combeferre is practically panting, his blue eyes dark with want -- and Joly rises to his feet again, causing Combeferre to whine again at his sudden absence. “Where is your oil?” Joly asks.

“Bottom drawer--” Combeferre gasps. “Quickly, though.”

Joly fetches it and returns to straddle Combeferre yet again, and while his lover watches, he dabs oil on his fingers and starts the process of opening himself up for him, never breaking eye contact as he does so. Combeferre begins to whine and squirm, trying to lift himself up off the the mattress, but his bonds keep him from moving very far. Beads of sweat are appearing on his face, even though October’s chill can be felt through the walls of his rooms.

Unable to sustain the sweet torture much longer, Joly aligns himself with Combeferre’s still-hard cock, and lowers himself onto it as slowly as he can manage, until its tip hits his sweet spot -- and it is his turn to gasp. 

“Move, for God’s sake,” Combeferre implores, his voice straining. “I don’t -- know -- how much longer -- I can -- do this,” he gasps.

Joly decides to relent and begins to writhe on top of Combeferre, grasping his own hard cock and stroking it in time with his own movements At last Joly comes -- and as he does, Combeferre shouts, “Jolllly!”

And he finally spends deep inside Joly.

For a moment, Joly remains in that position, trying to catch his breath -- then he rolls off Combeferre and quickly unties him, tugging him close and stroking his reddened wrists. As they lie together on the small bed, breathing in tandem as they return to earth, they can hear the bells toll the half hour.

“So just over 30 minutes,” Joly observes, stroking Combeferre’s blond hair off his damp forehead. “Impressive.”

Combeferre shakes his head. “I believe we can do better.”

“Are you certain you want to do this again?” asks Joly, sounding uncharacteristically skeptical.

“I do,” Combeferre answers, rolling Joly onto his back and kissing him long and hard. “But next time, for the best results -- I must insist we reverse our roles.”


End file.
